


Raise The Stakes

by DecemberCamie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 15:36:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecemberCamie/pseuds/DecemberCamie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock had never bothered to consider the District 12 Tribute John Watson for a possible ally. He hadn't even bothered to look at him twice before determining that John was going to be one of the first to die. But yet, here John was, helping another Tribute even though only one of them could survive. What was he trying to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raise The Stakes

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if anyone else has ever written a mix of Sherlock and The Hunger Games, but whatever. The books and the movie are amazing, the series is amazing, so why not combine the two?
> 
> Obviously, if you have not read The Hunger Games or seen the movie, you will not understand half of what I am writing. There aren't any spoilers, only information on how the Games work and such. I do not own Sherlock (BBC series), or The Hunger Games (book or movie).

"I do not need your help." Sherlock said through his teeth. He tried to ignore the torturous pain that came from a burn on his calf, but it was quickly becoming intolerable.

"Of course not," came the calm reply. "You're just limping because you want to, right?" Sherlock could hear the other teenager's steady footsteps from behind him. Following him.

Sherlock chose not to respond, deciding to focus his energy instead on stumbling forward without falling. This simple act alone demanded more of his attention than he was willing to admit. He couldn't see how he was going to survive much longer if he was going to continue on like this. He would either die due to his inability to heal his injury, or one of the other Tribunes would finish him off.

Neither option was desirable.

The only thing he could do- the only choice open to him really at this point- was to continue on his way, and hope that his sponsor would give him the healing medicine he needed to heal himself. That part was fine; he could deal with the waiting part, even if it was boring. Medicine was not cheap after all, and the kind he required was quite costly. No, the real problem was the teenager who had been following Sherlock for the last few hours.

John Watson from District 12.

Sherlock's vision blurred and he stumbled over a root before he could recover. He could feel himself falling forward, but at the last second a strong arm grabbed him from behind.

"Ok, no. You are defiantly not alright." John muttered and lowered Sherlock to the ground. Sherlock no longer had the energy to fight and allowed himself to be propped up against a tree trunk. From his position he could see John examining the burn on his right leg. John reached out to touch it, and Sherlock hissed at the contact.

"Sorry, sorry." John murmured. "Didn't mean to hurt you."

Sherlock chuckled without humor at the comment, but John promptly ignored him. They both knew that what John had said wasn't true; out here in the arena each Tribute was playing for their lives. Hurting each other was their job and- for most of the Tributes- their last hope to go back to their families and homes.

The other Tributes had volunteered to participate in the Games, each convinced that they had the skills to survive as lone victor. They were deluded into thinking so. Arrogant in personality, confident in their abilities, and deadly in battle. Overall, they were incredibly annoying and overwhelmingly stupid to the point where Sherlock almost allowed himself to be hurt in order to escape their company.

Sherlock was different from the others, although he too had volunteered. He had not volunteered because he was in one of the few Districts that actually trained for the Games. No, he had volunteered out of boredom.

Really, a person with a brain such as his own should never have to suffer the dullness of life in the Districts as he had. Sherlock was only seventeen, but he had finally had enough. Of boredom, of the hatred he had received from the others in his District, of being alone, of his family who was as cold and hard as the stones in his District. The Games offered an escape from all of that, and most of all, it was exciting. For days now Sherlock entertained himself by trying to guess who would be the next to go.

But then came the fire, the burns, the horrible pain, and finally John Watson.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked when he noticed John standing up.

"There are some plants I saw the on the way here, they should help your burns." John explained. "I'll go find them and come back right away, alright?"

"I don't care what you do," Sherlock huffed, forcing himself to sound indifferent and cold. John didn't reply. Instead he turned away without saying a word and started to tread carefully down the hill. Sherlock watched his retreating back, wondering if the teenager would keep true to his word or leave him here alone to die.

There had been a few things Sherlock had not expected when he had volunteered for the Games. John Watson had been one of them.

John Watson, a healer from District 12 who had volunteered to take his older sister's place during the reaping. He was a nobody; just another random starving citizen with dull blonde hair, tired blue eyes, and deep circles even though he couldn't be older than sixteen. The only time he had ever stood out was that night when he and the other Tribute from his District (Sarah, or something another) had rolled down in their carriage engulfed in flames.

As far as Sherlock knew, John had no skills other than the fact that he was obviously a healer and knew which plants were safe or poisonous. He wasn't tall or thin, could not climb trees, and had a terrible limp that had amazingly disappeared the day the actual Games began (psychosomatic limp, obviously). And yet by some miracle, he had scored an eleven by the judges.

Sherlock had never bothered to consider him for a possible ally, but that had gone for the other Tributes as well even though a few had been interested (a sly girl by the name Irene Adler from District 1 and a clinging fourteen year old named James from District 3). And yet, here John was, helping another Tribute even though only one of them could survive. What was he trying to do? Was he hoping that Sherlock wouldn't harm him since he had helped Sherlock with his burn? If so, he was sadly mistaken.

To his surprise, Sherlock picked up on the sound of John's returning footsteps; he had not expected John to return. As soon as the healer came into his view, John's face broke out into a brilliant smile- too happy for a dark and miserable place such as this- and crouched down next to Sherlock. In his hands were a cluster of boring, normal leaves. These things were supposed to help with his burn? Pathetic, really. The leaves might have well looked interesting if nothing else.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked coldly as John began to lay the leaves on the burns on his legs and hands.

"These will help you," John insisted. Sherlock started to pick them off before John forced him to stop. "Stop! Don't touch them. You want the pain to go away, don't you?" After receiving a scowl from Sherlock, he continued to work with the leaves while the genius watched him with narrowed eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock said finally, breaking the silence. The question had a strange affect on John. For a moment his careful hands froze, and his breathing stopped. After a second though his breath came back and his movements were more sure than ever. Only after he had placed all of the leaves down did he look up to stare into Sherlock's eyes.

"The fire," John said. "I was in it. With Sarah."

Ah. That explained it. Sarah was the girl Tribute from District 12. She and John had made a favorable impression on the sponsors with their holding hands and teamwork; an odd combination for a pair who would most likely end up dying the first day. Sherlock had been surprised when neither of their pictures had shown up in the sky that first night.

"Did she survive?" Sherlock said calmly. This girl was nothing to him, but he might as well make simple chit chat until this moment of rare peacefulness disappeared.

"I don't know; we were separated. I didn't hear the canon, but I passed out so it could've gone off. Did you hear anything?"

Sherlock shrugged. For the first time in the Games he had been more worried about himself and his own wounds than the other Tributes. He hadn't bothered with wondering about the others for a few hours now.

"So…you are guilty that you lost track of her in the same fire I was in? Is that why you're doing this?" Sherlock questioned. "Or do you feel a need to treat me because of your experience?"

John, who had been searching in his back pack for something stopped and looked up at Sherlock with a confused expression.

"What do you mean my 'experience'?"

"You are a doctor, are you not?"

John frowned. "Not really. I just treat the people in my District…how did you know that?"

"Your hands." Sherlock said simply. John just looked more confused than before and it took all Sherlock had not to sigh and roll his eyes.

"Your hands." Sherlock insisted again. "They are too steady to belong to someone inexperienced. You are too calm too; it's obvious that you have dealt with wounds like this before." He gestured towards his burns.

"Obvious." John repeated faintly. "Right. Of course." He shook his head in bewilderment, but he didn't ask any more questions and he continued to search his pack with a faint smile on his lips. Sherlock frowned. Now he was the one confused. Why was John smiling?

"Ah, here it is." John finally pulled back. In his hand was a small silver container. On the inside was a strange silver grey lotion that Sherlock recognized.

"Where did you get that?" Sherlock asked.

"You know what this is?" John held the container out to Sherlock who took it eagerly.

"Of course I do. I've read about it." Sherlock said with a dismissive hand wave. "It's extremely expensive though. Where did you get it?"

"I got it from those silver parachutes that come down and give the Tributes what they need. I received it just a few minutes before I found you hobbling along."

"I wasn't hobbling," Sherlock muttered and he heard John snort with disbelief. Sherlock removed the leaves and tried to apply the lotion on his hands as gently as possible. Before he could stop himself, he still let out a slight hiss as he touched the tender skin. John took the container again and put the lotion on the burn marks on Sherlock's legs.

The affect was immediate. He could barely feel the pain anymore, although it was best to keep the leaves on and protect his hurt flesh from the environment. He sighed in relief and looked back over to John who was grinning.

"Why are you smiling?" Sherlock asked, puzzled. The smile instantly vanished and John shrugged.

"Just happy I could help is all." He stood up and brushed off his pants. Sherlock felt fear rush through him and grabbed the right leg of John's pants automatically. John stopped moving and looked back at Sherlock, confused. Sherlock himself was surprised at his actions but did not release his hold. He did not want John to go.

"Where are you going?" he asked and made an effort to prevent his voice from shaking.

"No where." John said. Then he held out his hand to Sherlock. "I was just standing up so I could help you up. Since it's still hard for you to walk and all."

Sherlock took the hand in somewhat of a daze. No one had ever offered to help him off the ground before. Was this what friends were like?

John grunted as he pulled Sherlock up. He carefully wrapped Sherlock's arm around his shoulder and grabbed his back pack with his free hand. He turned sideways to smile at Sherlock, and the genius blinked. To think that this was the same person who he had called useless for the past week. Now, he probably owed John Watson his life.

"Ready to go?" John asked cheerfully, bringing Sherlock back to the present.

"Go?"

"Yeah, I figured we should probably go find a cave or something to rest for a while until your wounds heal. I can probably take care of the both of us until then, but we need to find someplace safe. Oh, and it has to be able to be easily defended too. Unless, you don't want to team up?"

All Sherlock could do was blink. Again. Team up? Work together? Was that even possible in a place like this? No, that wasn't the question. The question was if he wanted to team up with a person like John Watson or not. So. Did he, or did he not?

John watched him nervously, waiting for the answer. Finally, Sherlock nodded.

"Alright." Sherlock agreed. "I will work with you. Just know that I am not responsible for cleaning this cave or whatever it is we're going to."

John laughed and started to stumble forward, Sherlock using his good leg but still leaning on the other heavily.

"I'll try to keep that in mind." John said, grinning.


End file.
